Chapter 24: The Abandoned Factory

Darkness filled Rick’s vision—until a faint glow emerged.

It was like the break of dawn after an endless night, a hazy light filtering through and landing on his eyelids, coaxing him to open his eyes.

With a forceful blink, Rick opened them—only to be greeted by a searing brightness that left him dizzy and disoriented. A sharp pain surged through his skull, compelling him to press his forehead hard against the dusty, gravel-covered ground just to ease the agony.

“You’re awake?”

A low, slightly hoarse voice sounded beside him, the tone relaxed and unhurried. Rick jolted awake the moment he heard it. Propping himself up, he looked up, trembling, a mix of confusion and fear flooding his chest.

Sitting in front of him was a tall, slender man in a red coat, grinning widely. His lips curled unnaturally, and his eyes gleamed with glee—like a child who had just discovered a shiny new toy.

Rick’s mind blanked for a split second before a wave of despair crashed over him. His limbs went numb, and his heart clenched tight with hopeless dread.

“Blake Morton…?”

“Oh heavens, I didn’t think I was that famous.” Blake sniffed indifferently. “Why is it that everyone I’ve met lately already knows me?”

He chuckled, amused. “Though I’ll admit—it’s getting boring. The last few who recognized me all came to beat me up.”

His expressions shifted erratically, his speech swinging between rapid and sluggish. He looked completely unhinged.

“So, Mister—what should I call you?” Blake asked casually, though he was looking up at the ceiling rather than at Rick. He stretched lazily and licked his parched lips.

“Rick,” he stammered, panic etched across his face. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding like a war drum.

“Rick… Lewis.”

“Hmm, Rick.” Blake smacked his lips thoughtfully. “Do you remember what just happened?”

Rick’s head still throbbed, but Blake’s question made his entire body tense. Fighting through the pain, he forced himself to recall.

After receiving a phone call, he had rushed to Rollins Avenue and met up with one of his men. They confirmed that the person his subordinate had been tailing was most likely Blake Morton.

Rick didn’t dwell on why Blake hadn’t bothered to disguise himself. All he wanted was to track him down and relay the information to Rachel. That was it. He had no intention of getting involved further—he wasn’t of much help anyway.

But then… things spiraled out of control.

His subordinate suddenly froze, eyes glazing over. His arms drooped helplessly by his side. Rick knew something was wrong and tried to ask what was happening.

Then, he saw blood seeping from the man’s seven orifices. It gushed out violently.

The man collapsed in front of him, completely lifeless.

“H-Hey, are you okay?!” Rick had stammered in horror.

Then, something even more terrifying happened. The world dimmed around him. It was as if the sun had suddenly been snuffed out—plunging the area into night.

But the sun was still hanging in the sky. Rick could see it.

Only… its light had narrowed to a spotlight, shining solely on him. Just one meter beyond his feet, there was only pitch black.

And then—he lost consciousness.

“That… That was you? You did all of that?” Rick asked, trembling, as the memories came flooding back.

“Hmm—Mr. Rick.” Blake pinched his chin thoughtfully. “To be honest, I’m not quite sure what you mean by ‘all of that.’ But if you’re asking whether I killed your buddy, or brought you here…”

He leaned in, grinning.

“Then yes. That was me.”

Rick blinked in stunned silence. It wasn’t just the madman’s unsettling response—it was the realization that he’d said those words without thinking, a reflexive plea made in pure fear.

He hadn’t even meant to ask a question.

“Any other questions for me, Mr. Rick?” Blake crossed his legs, lounging like a cat. “I’m in a good mood. Might even answer one or two—if I feel like it.”

“N-No. None at all.”

Rick dared not utter another word. One wrong sentence could be the end of him. He kept still, his eyes darting around the room.

If he had to guess, this must be the inside of the abandoned factory.

It was in ruins—thick dust and cobwebs clung to every surface. Several sections of the ceiling had collapsed, revealing patches of drifting clouds above. The steel-reinforced concrete beams still looked sturdy, though. Scattered around were giant vats, mixing pits, strange raw materials, and broken lab equipment—test tubes, beakers, the works. In the corner were piles of junk—tires, stools, discarded gloves, and something that looked like molds.

“Curious about where we are?” Blake followed Rick’s gaze. “You guessed it. This is the old factory near Rollins Avenue. You know the one.”

Rick snapped his gaze back in horror, no longer daring to look around.

“Hey, Rick. You seem really nervous. Mind telling me why?” Blake stood and walked over.

“Please…”

“What’s that?” Blake leaned in, cupping his ear dramatically.

“Please… don’t kill me. I was sent here—I didn’t come on my own. I-I can tell you who it was!”

“Boring.” Blake pouted, visibly uninterested. “But go ahead. Who was it?”

“Rachel… Rachel Ronald. She’s with the Special Affairs Bureau.”

“Ahh, that name rings a bell. Special Affairs Bureau?” Blake’s eyes lit up. “Wait—is she the blue-haired beauty with the fine ass?”

“Y-Yes! That’s her.” Rick nodded frantically.

“Now things are finally getting interesting.” Blake grinned. “So… does she know you’re here? Hm, Rick?”

“I-I… She might know. I’m not sure when she’ll—”

“Hey, Rick. Hey, look at me.” Blake grabbed Rick by the chin and yanked his face up.

“Wanna hear a story?” He licked his lips. “One from a hometown boy like you.”

“Oh right, you’re from Sinhe too, aren’t you?”